After a few minutes of cooldown, Creed and Andy thanked Corey James for talking to them. James stood and straightened his clothes, but the guy looked like they had gut-punched him about six times.
At the door, Creed stopped and extended his hand, looked the man straight in the eye, and said what he needed to say. “I’ll do what I can to get your wife home to you.”
Corey James shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thank you, Detective. I hope you’re as good as your word.”
Andy opened the door to Two, and Corey James quickly lost himself in the now-moving crush of men in suits.
Creed and Andy followed him into the hall. Creed elbowed his way past Captain Freeman’s office and a still-jumpy-looking Captain Freeman, who was heading toward his desk. The crowd of bodyguards closed around Creed and cut him off from Andy. Then the men in suits stepped aside as a woman’s voice said, “That’s okay, boys. I think he’s one of the good guys.”
Seconds later, Creed found himself facing a tall, thin woman who might have been a fashion model in her younger years. She had pale, perfect skin, high cheekbones, and almost translucent blue eyes. Her blond hair, streaked with ash and darker highlights, was drawn up in an elegant sweep, and her beige skirt matched the jacket she was retrieving from Creed’s chair.
“Mrs. Latch,” Creed said, recognizing her photo from the case file.
To his surprise, he felt something he had never felt on the job before—the
other,
stirring in his gut, beginning to growl.
Raven Latch folded her blazer over her arm with a graceful flick of the wrist and appraised him the way a buyer might size up a stallion for a stud fee. He didn’t think she approved of his jeans, and she didn’t seem to think much of his pressed blue shirt, either—but the jacket, the old piece of junk Andy had complimented, drew a smile.
Raven Latch reached out and brushed a hair off his sleeve.
Creed flinched at the contact because the
other
let out a howl inside his mind. Not just any howl, either. A scared, wary keening. He had never heard the thing make that noise before.
The woman’s nails, expertly done in a glossy French style, raked across the leather, leaving faint marks as the
other
pulled back from her inside Creed. He had to fight not to shake as waves of the creature’s fear washed through him.
“Now we’re talking,” Raven Latch said, and Creed couldn’t help thinking she sounded a little like Lauren Ba-call in old movies—before she got hoarse from smoking. “Why aren’t you working my son’s murder, Detective? You look like a man who gets the job done.”
Creed cleared his throat and took a step back from her. He clenched his jaw to keep control of himself. There was no reading the woman’s face, but her eyes were rimmed with red and her makeup was streaked from crying. Emotional, at least, though she seemed to have a core of well-frozen ice.
“I’ll do what I can to assist, ma’am,” he forced himself to say, feeling Captain Freeman’s gaze like hammers on the back of his neck.
“Start by getting my best friend out of jail, would you?” Raven Latch patted his arm, making his gut roil. “She’s no more a murderer than I am.”
“We’re looking into it,” he assured her, giving her the most noncommittal assurance he could muster and using all his strength to stand his ground.
A distinguished-looking older man with salt-and-pepper hair broke through the ring of guards then and took Raven Latch by the arm. Creed had only a few moments to size up Davin Latch. He looked polished in his new-style Armani silk suit, but also serious and worn, as if the death of his son sat on his shoulders like a gruesome weight. Senator Latch spoke gently to his wife and started to lead her away, but she held on to the sleeve of Creed’s leather jacket. At a wail from the
other
and a reserved but pleading glance from Senator Latch, Creed reached up to gently pry loose her fingers.
Raven Latch’s eyes fell on his signet ring, and her gaze snapped to Creed’s face.
Shit. She’s going to start yelling that I’m one of the Legion like Riana and crew.
But Raven Latch did no such thing. She just stared at Creed as if she was memorizing each line, hair, and detail on his face. Her husband gave her arm a tug, and she moved away from him, still staring, and she never stopped, not until the crowd of bodyguards blotted her from his view.
The minute he couldn’t see her any longer, the
other
went quiet and seemed to drop into oblivion. The next thing Creed heard was Captain Freeman clearing his throat, followed by Andy’s sarcastic snort from beside him.
“Well, well, loverboy.” Andy laughed. “You certainly made a friend.”
17
Riana helped place the last mirror, then stood back with Cynda, the South Manhattan triad, and the North Queens triad to survey the repairs. Everything looked right, in place, and ready to go. Thank the Goddess the Mothers kept a ready supply of treated glass.
“Listen to this from the
Times,
” Merilee said from the couch, where she was eating chips and going over the day’s newspapers with highlighters and taking notes.
“Latch Proclaims Friend Innocent.”
Bela Argos came out of the kitchen, her triad in tow. She was wearing a tool belt complete with hammer and bag full of nails. Her pestle had hold of a circular saw, and her broom was dusting sawdust off leather gloves.
“Door’s fixed,” Bela said, eyeing Riana. “Though I still can’t figure out how the big blast you described did
that
damage, too.”
Cynda, who was standing on the big oak table and turning to check the position of all the mirrors, coughed loudly.
Riana didn’t offer explanations, choosing instead to thank Bela and all the Sibyls who had pitched in to restore her brownstone. They even had chimes again, balanced, tuned, and ready to transmit as needed.
Creed and Andy would be surprised when they returned tonight.
If they come back. If he comes back. When am I going to stop worrying about that? They’ve been coming back every night. They’ll be here.
Riana’s chest ached, and she caught herself tugging at her crescent pendant. She forced herself to put down her hand and see her guests to the door, making sure to lavish them with as much praise and gratitude as she could muster.
Bela tried to ask a few more questions about the bedroom door, but Riana saw the twinkle in the woman’s unusual black eyes as she took her triad and departed. She was teasing, a rare thing for Bela Argos. Probably trying to help Riana feel better, and herself, too. The loss of Bette and the North Bronx triad had rattled them all.
The Mothers had ordered one of the ranger groups to move up from Hempstead and Jamaica Bay to cover the North Bronx region. They were sending a newer triad to get started in Nassau County and the surrounding area. At least the east rangers had experience, since they were often pulled north and west to lend a hand in Brooklyn and Staten Island. Riana liked their mortar, too. A same-year graduate. Still, she could feel the absence of Alisa like a worrisome thorn, poking her, poking her. It felt unnatural. Wrong.
Something to be rectified.
She got herself a late lunch of apples, nuts, and soft cheese, and sat down on the couch beside Merilee. Cynda couldn’t be bothered to eat or talk. She was up on the oak table, barefoot and dancing, absorbed with playing with her new mirrors and chimes.
The set over the door rang, and Riana picked out Cynda’s message.
I can sing again.
She had to smile. It must have been killing Cynda, to be so cut off and quiet. Now she could ring the chimes all over the world if she wanted. And she probably would.
“I don’t like Davin Latch,” Merilee announced, tossing her copy of
The New York Times
on the floor. She crammed her hand into the chip bag and munched loudly before adding, “He’s too composed. Too slick.”
“He’s been a politician for what, twenty years?” Riana paused to eat a piece of red apple, enjoying the cool, sweet taste. “He probably acts like he’s on camera twenty-four/seven.”
Merilee tucked her highlighter behind her ear, marking a yellow streak across her cheek as she went. She snatched the next paper out of her lap, the
Daily News
by the look of it. “We are deeply saddened by our loss,” she read, talking through her nose and mimicking a terrible highbrow accent. “We’ll live under the shadow of this tragedy forever.”
“Give the man a break.” Riana downed a bite of cheese, then went after a sliver of toasted pecan before continuing. “His kid died a week ago. What’s he supposed to say? My son was a heinous little brat and we’re thrilled to pieces somebody murdered him?”
Merilee pulled the highlighter from behind her ear, marked something, and put it back. “I wonder if he was a brat? Some kind of burden to Mr. I-Want-to-Be-President-Next-Term. That might be an angle.”
“If Jacob Latch had been trouble, I bet the press would have blabbed that by now.”
“If they knew.” Merilee put down the paper and her chip bag. “This guy, I swear, Ri, he’s Teflon. I searched back to his high school days in every database I’ve got, and couldn’t find even a hint of scandal or wrongdoing.”
“Maybe because he’s just what he seems?” Riana shrugged. “Maybe he’s an honest man.”
The chimes above her head rang, old code this time. Merilee spelled it out. “G-E-T R-E-A-L.” She grinned and looked at Cynda, and gave the redhead a thumbs-up. “No shit. Get real, honey. You don’t survive this long with the sharks without getting bitten.”
“Or biting a few asses of your own.” Cynda got down from the oak table, came over to where Riana was sitting, and snitched some nuts off her plate. “Maybe we should look for who Latch has bitten,” she said with her mouth full. Then, after chewing and swallowing and plopping down on a chair arm, “Maybe this was all about vengeance.”
Merilee rolled her eyes. “Only a pussy kills somebody’s kid to get even.”
“A pussy or a psychotic bastard without mercy,” Cynda corrected. “The Russian mob is like that, right?”
Riana sighed. “The Russian mob doesn’t use Asmodai.”
As usual, Cynda didn’t seem fazed by simple logic. “Maybe they hired somebody who does.”
“Let’s make a list of possibilities, and go over it with Andy and Creed tonight,” Riana suggested, mostly so she could finish her lunch in peace.
At the mention of Creed’s name, Merilee and Cynda got very still.
Riana choked down her bite of apple, felt herself blush, and hated it. “Look, I know you’re not comfortable with him. With me being with him.”
“We’re not,” Cynda agreed. She snatched a bite of cheese. “You haven’t even told the Mothers about him—and I’m betting, now that I can reach them again, you don’t want me to tell them, either.”
Heat rose up Riana’s neck, and her muscles tensed.
Telling the Mothers would likely mean losing Creed. No doubt they would demand that she send him to one of the Motherhouses for containment and evaluation.
And I should, shouldn’t I?
No. He’s more useful here. He’s no real threat, and he’s cooperating.
“Uh-huh,” Cynda said, responding to Riana’s silence. “I thought as much. So again, no, we’re not comfortable with demon-man.”
“But we could be,” Merilee said brightly. “If you let us do what we need to do.”
Riana eyed the broom of her triad and handed her plate of food to Cynda. Her appetite was fading fast. The thought of sending him away to the Mothers made her physically ill. “We already tried to question him—and you saw how that went. I’m running my advanced analyses, but they aren’t finished yet. What else do you have in mind?”
When Merilee didn’t answer, Riana looked at Cynda, who got off the chair arm and actually sat down in the chair’s seat. “Either tell the Mothers and let them take Creed, or let us investigate him. Thoroughly, like we should.”
Merilee nodded. “Even Andy doesn’t know much about his past, you know? Just the same stuff he told us, about his mother and grandmother, and his missing brother. Oh, and he told her he was born here, and he went to Columbia. He’s never even told her his major.”
“That should be easy enough to hack.” Cynda polished off the cheese and put the plate on the floor.
Riana glared at her.
“It’s just punching keys on a keyboard,” Cynda said. “Don’t get all protective of your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Riana blurted. He’s—”
He’s what?
The question stopped her cold and made her chest ache again, but it didn’t stop Cynda.
Cynda twirled her index finger in a circle, like
Come on, chick, let’s go
. “What do you want to call him then? Boy toy? Fuck-buddy? Look, Riana, he’s in our house and in your bed, and we don’t even know what he is, for the sake of the Goddess.”
“I’m working on that!” Riana wrapped her arms around herself and scooted back on the couch. “I’ve got an advanced genetic analysis running as we speak.”
“Then let us work, too.” Merilee leaned toward her and put her hand on Riana’s wrist. No false brightness now. Her expression was earnest and concerned. “If you’re not going to turn him over to the Mothers, let us use our tools to find out all we can.”
Riana’s insides twisted. She wanted to yell at her triad sisters and tell them no, to stay away from Creed and stay out of her business—but it didn’t work that way, did it? They were in this together, and if they pulled in different directions…
The image of Bette’s burned body flared in Riana’s mind.
She took a breath to steady herself. Then she nodded. “Okay, all right. I don’t want to send him to the Mothers, but I don’t want disasters, either. Do whatever you think you have to.”
“Good, good. Thank you.” Merilee’s relieved smile seemed like a reward. “Now, we can’t help it if one of the other triads rats you out, but they’ll probably figure we’ve kept the Mothers informed. And there’s no saying we’ll find out anything dark or bad about him.”